


Of Colds and Cuddles

by snufflesfoot



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canon Era, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-04
Updated: 2014-06-04
Packaged: 2018-02-03 10:16:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1741031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snufflesfoot/pseuds/snufflesfoot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tooth-rotting fluff of winters and wanting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Colds and Cuddles

Arthur Pendragon abhors winter.

Always has, ever since the last time it got this cold, when Arthur was barely three feet tall and wobbling around the entire castle, and distinctly remembers that he was quite upset he couldn't wobble outside.

This day is particularly nasty; the sky's spitting out chunks of ice with a vengeance and Arthur's hand goes numb over the hilt of his sword, while his chainmail does nothing for the cold, except maybe amplify it.

After he had been hit with hail more times than he had been by a knight, he orders everyone back inside with blue lips and a glare for good measure.

Arthur heads back to his chambers, after putting away his sword, fantasizing about hot baths and warm beds when a slender form barrels right into him from around the corner.

The offender bounces almost comically off of Arthur's armor and stumbles back, clutching at his head, and then looks up, a smile breaking his grimace, apparently forgetting about his injury.

Well, Arthur thinks, his head was probably used to it by now, what with all the times it had been dropped on as a mere infant -- how else could you explain it?

"Arthur!" Merlin shouts, pulling Arthur's wrist back towards the direction he'd just come from. "I've been looking all over for you! We have to go outside!"

"What is it?" Arthur asks, genuinely worried. "Is there another griffin?"

Merlin turns back, startled, and laughs when he realizes Arthur is actually serious.

"No, you dolt! It's snowing -- the first time in twenty years!"

Arthur gapes for a long moment. "You're crazier than I thought. Do you want me to be impaled by ice, Merlin? Are you trying to overthrow the king? That's treason, you know!"

Merlin rolls his eyes -- his pretty blue eyes from under his thick black lashes, but Arthur doesn't notice this, nope, he notices absolutely none of this at all, thank you very much.

Merlin starts talking again and Arthur tries his best to focus on the words, and not the bright pink lips that are forming -- _focus_.

"It stopped hailing a long time ago. Look!" Merlin points a finger to the window beside them, and Arthur does indeed see no sign of the evil frost, only the courtyard wrapped in a thick white blanket, with trees elegantly wearing their snowy shawls round their branches.

He hates it.

"But it's cold," he whines, and if he were not the ruler of an entire kingdom, he might even stomp his feet.

Which he doesn't.

Not even a little bit.

But it's all fruitless because he ends up outside anyway, tilting his head while watching Merlin spin around in circles with his tongue out and smiling so wide his eyes disappear, looking like a perfect lunatic and though Arthur's beginning to not feel his fingers -- the idiot wouldn't even let him get his gloves first -- there's something inexplicably warm settling at the base of his chest and his lips quirk up just a bit, though he'll swear up and down of doing quite the opposite.

~*~

"Where the hell is he?"

"Still sleeping, Sire. I think he has a bit of a --"

"Please tell me he doesn't have a cold."

"...he doesn't have a cold?"

"He has a cold, doesn't he?"

"A little."

Arthur snorts and reminds himself to sing his 'I-told-you-so' song sometime in the near future in the vicinity of the idiot. He then sighs a long-suffering sigh as he remembers Merlin's old walls and straw pallets and ratty blankets.

"I'll take him to my rooms, then."

"But Sire, he really shouldn't be working until he gets better. I'll tell someone else --"

"Gods, I'm not going to make him work, Gaius. I just thought it might help if he didn't freeze to death before getting rid of his cold."

"Oh. Well, alright then. But I'm not carrying him."

Which is how Arthur Pendragon, king of the largest and most powerful kingdom across the lands of Albion, is currently carrying his manservant to his royal chambers, in full bridal style no less.

(He would have just thrown him over his shoulder, but then the poor boy almost hacked up his lung and he sounded so in pain that Arthur just couldn't bear -- no, no, the noise was so annoying that Arthur just couldn't stand it.

Yes. That was it.)

Merlin blearily opens his eyes as Arthur places him on his bed. How he had slept through the entire way of being jostled and bounced around was anyone's guess.

"Arthur? What are you doing here?"

"Well, I kind of live here," he says sarcastically, and smirks when Merlin realizes where he is. But then he tries to sit up and we can't have that, can we?

"No, no, stay," Arthur says as he pulls the sheets up to Merlin's chin. "You were going to freeze in that old room of yours, so I just brought you here. I'll go get you some food."

He turns to head to the kitchens, but looks back when there is a small tug on his hand and sees Merlin staring curiously at him, a small smile tugging at his lips and all thoughts of the 'I-told-you-so' song fly out of his head.

"Thank you," Merlin says, in a soft voice, and suddenly Arthur is leaning over him and pressing a kiss into his forehead, and oh, he didn't mean to, but Merlin was being so...so _Merlin_ , he couldn't help it.

And now the idiot is grinning so wide, Arthur sods it all to hell, and just climbs into the bed with him.

"What are you doing?" Merlin exclaims. "You'll get sick!"

"I don't care."

"But I'm the one that'll have to take care of you!"

"Merlin?"

"Yes?"

"Shut up."

"Okay."

And with Merlin’s arm draping over him, Arthur thinks he could stand to give winter another chance.


End file.
